Chapter 5: Now you're just somebody that I used to know
You get hold of one of those people that get things done when you get back to the hotel; send her off with three backstage passes. Enough for the whole family (yes, you think of them as a family now; it's better to be prepared), or enough for Betty to come three times.
You don't really expect Betty to show up that night, and you're only booked for a week before heading back to The States. But you're nervous when it's time to go onstage - you haven't been this nervous since your first night on stage, Betty smiling at you from the bar at Tangiers. Thankfully you can't see anything once you're onstage, and the crowd is an indistinguishable hum; some sort of feedback loop a technician explained to you one time on yet another endless train journey. You tell yourself over and over that Betty isn't there and that's how you make it though the first set.
You flinch at the knock on your door during the break; you're hoping it's a martini but you're pretty sure it's another curtain call. Instead it's Betty; she has a small bouquet of poppies and a nervous smile. You beckon her in and you're certain your smile is just as nervous as hers. You haven't been alone with her for years and all you can think about is that she hasn't closed the door behind her. You stand, push the door shut behind her and take the flowers. They're lovely, but they remind you of so much lost. Of Vera and Marco and Ivan. You put them in your water-jug for the moment; there are already a lot of vases in the room, all of them already in use.
"Gladys doesn't mind?" you ask tentatively, nodding at the flowers.
"Mind? Why would she?" Betty asks. "Oh. Oh, no. She doesn't mind. They're half from her, anyway."
You nod, because that's no less weird than getting them from Betty alone. You sit at the dresser, check your face again. You look like a clown in the dressing room, but onstage they only see the highlights of your hair, the white of your face. No one really sees you.
"I don't suppose..." she starts off, and pulls a card from her handbag, holds it out to you. She stops halfway, then tries to shove it back in the little book it had been holding a place in. "No, don't worry, don't-" she trails off as you filch the paper from her fingers. She reaches out but she's too late. Her hand brushes yours and you forgot how her hand used to feel in yours. You don't know how you forgot something as important as that; time and memory are strange and intertwined; her hand feels familiar, but softer.
And in her soft, familiar hand was a very, very old photo of you; you didn't know she still had it. At least she chose one of the most tasteful of the batch. You remember the moment Chet took this one, how you'd finally managed to ignore him and focus on Betty, smiling because she was smiling.
You couldn't determine your expression in this photo, all those years ago. Now it's hitting you in the face.
"I don't know why I bought it with me," she mumbles. "Just... wanted you to sign something, I guess."
You riffle through a stack of glossies your agent left on your dresser, sign one absent-mindedly as you stare at the younger, more fearful version of yourself.
"I don't always make good decisions..." you start, with a self-deprecating laugh.
"I make worse," Betty says, with a shrug and a face too expressive to read a single emotion on it.
"I ran away from the only thing that ever meant anything to me." you counter. Betty's face brightens and tightens; she thinks she knows what you're saying but she won't let herself believe it. You want to elaborate but thoughts of Gladys at home in Betty's house, Kitty on her lap, maybe reading a book together, Kitty begging to stay up until Betty comes home - you've never been a homewrecker. But somehow you can't stop your hand from slipping its way back into hers, tugging her over to sit on the bench seat with you.
You don't remember Betty touching you overmuch; all you remember is her hand in your hair in the hospital bed; blood dried on her face, still in her overalls because she wouldn't leave you for more than a moment. You remember the way she felt soft pressed against you while you danced. You remember a lot of things that aren't helpful right now, her shoulder resting against yours, her hand still trapped in yours. You turn to face her but she's looking at you so... thoroughly that you have to turn away, meet her gaze in the mirror instead.
"Can I keep this one?" You ask tentatively. Betty nods and follows that up with a "Sure." There's a knock on the door and someone pokes their head in to tell you it's two minutes to curtain. Betty's hands drops from yours at the sound, she turns away from the door. You smile and nod and the intruder leaves, leaving the door open behind her.
"Well, you were great out there. Better get back to my seat," Betty says, brushing herself down carefully as she stands. You hold out the glossy for her; she slides it carefully into her book, rests a hand on your shoulder and tries to say something. She leaves; you watch her walk away. For all you know it's the last time you'll see her. But once she's gone, you're drawn back to the photo of somebody that you used to know. She's smiling, not at the camera, but at someone just off to the side, and her face is full of hope, and trust, and love.
Author's note: Sorry so late; full-on full-time new job. Getting cained but I'm killing it.